An owl stood under the oak as I passed. His wide eyes and swiveling head followed my movement, but he did not flee. I paused across the church courtyard, admiring his layered feathers and silent aura. He perfectly camouflaged into the darkening background; I'm not sure how I spotted him to begin with. We faced each other for a good minute. Not a breeze disturbed the quiet summer evening. I continued on in the twilight.
Under the streetlamp blocks away, a gangly young fox trotted across the end of Main Ave. He stopped in the front yard on the corner. I slowed as I walked under the tube of light. The fox rose to its back legs, studying me in stillness like the owl. I paused again, gazing across the yard at its perceptive face. Ears piqued, crepuscular eyes focused and curious. We looked at one another. The world was calm. I traveled onwards.
Humans have lived alongside the owl and the fox since the beginning. We found them, solitary hunters of the night, on every landmass we settled. They thrive in cities and wilderness--unsurprisingly, for their intelligence is apparent from mere moments of interaction. Some cultures find this astuteness unnerving, a bad omen. Others revere the natural wisdom.
Like angles of the dusk, apparitions communicating beyond spoken language, the owl and the fox came in trusting peace. There was no fear between us. Maybe they accept me as one of their own.
